


december 20th: let the words flow

by watergator



Series: december fic advent 2019 [20]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watergator/pseuds/watergator
Summary: prompt: poetrydan takes up a poetry class
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: december fic advent 2019 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559341
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	december 20th: let the words flow

_ Wind rattles my windowpane, _

_ Shaking and shattering into a thousand shards, _

_ Broken each one, left on the ground. _

_ Thoughts rattle my skull, _

_ The inside out it thumps and pulses like a siren, _

_ Each fragment of my brain, hurting and cold. _

He doesn’t realise there’s somebody standing over him until he’s dotting the last sentence. A shadow grows over his shoulder and Dan spins around in his chair.

“Bit gloomy, innit?”

There’s blue eyes staring down at him. An unfamiliar pair that he’s not see yet here. He looks around the room to see that people are starting to pack away. Bags are on desks and there’s the idle sound of chatter.

He hadn’t even realised it was the end of the class already.

“It’s just—“ Dan waves a hand around absentmindedly as he scrapes his chair back rather harshly, making the blue eyed stranger jump back to miss him.

“It’s good,” the stranger says, and Dan avoids looking at him as he picks up his notebook and shoves it into his backpack. 

The paper crumples a little but he pretends not to care nor notice. He’ll just rewrite it again later when he’s alone.

Dan turns to look at him. He has a kind face. The kind of face that’s perhaps  _ too _ kind. The kind of face that apparently reads over other people’s shoulders in an adult poetry class.

He isn’t sure what to say at first, maybe just thank him or just say goodbye, but it appears the man decides for him as he reaches out and does a weird and awkward pat on the arm that has  Dan looking towards his arm.

“See ya then,” he says with a tight lipped smile, and with that, he’s off.

*

The isle is gloomy. December is dragging its heels and it doesn’t feel right that Christmas is so close already. It only feels like not long ago that he was outside, walking up and down the beach with sand in his shoes and the faintest of sun on his neck.

He sits at his desk. His apartment is cold and crap and he’s hungry. But he puts off eating, only because he knows he has no food in the house and if he wants dinner he’ll have to go out and find something.

He swallows thickly and pulls his notebook back out and looks over his work for the day.

The paper is a little scraggly looking and his handwriting is rushed and scribbled.

He tears the paper out and sets it aside, smothering out the next page. He picks up his pen, and starts again.

*

Blue sits beside him this time. His desk is closer to his and he’s beaming at him as they unpack their things.

“Good weekend?” He asks.

Dan pretends to fiddle with his ink pen for a moment before he hums.

Blue doesn’t seem to care that he’s being so blatantly ignored, and instead flips to a new page in his book.

“Mine was alright. Did you go to the market? My mum wanted my opinion on  _ oranges _ of all things,” he chuckles. “I suppose it’s one way to get me out of the house.”

Dan still doesn’t look up and instead hums again, so faintly that he’s sure he probably wouldn’t have heard him.

His eyes flicker to the front of the room where more people wander in, and eventually the teacher strolls in behind them, talking with a smile to one of the students.

Dan looks to Blue. He’s still looking at him with a smile. It’s sympathetic and Dan wants to tear it off his face.

The teacher clears her throat and Dan’s looking away from him and giving the class his full attention.

*

_ Concrete and sand blends in my vision, _

_ Brown and yellow and blue all merge together, _

_ Watercolor canvas smeared across the horizon, _

_ Dull oceans in a bright world. _

“Let me see yours?”

Dan’s finished reading over his and look up to see Blue looking at him. 

“What?” He says.

Blue cracks a grin. “So you can talk,” he says at first, and then, “can I read what you’ve written?”

Dan gulps and his eyes flicker back to his page.

It’s not perfect but…

“Sure,” he mumbles, picking up the book and passing it over.

He watches him take it and then, he’s being passed back another book.

The handwriting is neat but there’s scribbles and doodles all across the page that distract Dan for a moment.

“Tell me if it’s crap,” Blue laughs before ducking his head down to read what he’s written.

Dan watches him for a moment as he feels his heart kick against his chest, before he tears his eyes away and forces himself to read what’s in front of him.

His eyes scan the page.

_ Golden sands reminiscent of a childhood once passed, _

_ Sea salt on my lips, _

_ Sun on my skin. _

_ Heat above my head and happiness drips between my fingers. _

_ Golden sands fleck across my body and a childhood once passed greets me again. _

Dan reads it a third time over until he hears his voice again.

“You think the painting is dull?”

Dan looks at Blue before he looks towards where he’s nodding. Up on the screen in the copy of the painting they’re supposed to be writing about.

Dan feels his face contort into a frown as he looks back at him.

“You think my  _ writing  _ is dull?”

Blue blinks at him and for a moment Dan worries he’s perhaps scared him off before he’s huffing a strange kind of laugh.

“It’s different,” he tells him. “What’s your angle?”

He hands Dan back his notebook and Dan traces his scribbles words with the tip of his finger. He looks at him again.

“The beaches here are always cold. Yours clearly isn’t based on British beaches,” he says.

Blue smiles again, somehow impossibly wider.

“Florida,” he tells him.

Dan feels a faint smile ghost his lips before he’s looking down again. He hums, something un bothered and distant sounding.

“Sounds nice,” he says before picking his pencil back up.

*

Blue has a name. He learns this the week after when the teacher tells him he did a good job.

His name is Phil, which Dan finds odd because Phil is such… a normal name and this Phil feels like he’s the opposite of what a Phil should be.

He’s sat next to him again and he won’t stop talking, mostly about the storm that had passed over the isle overnight. Dan’s only half listening as he drafts up a few more ideas for the class assignment that’s due next week.

“I love thunder,” Phil tells him. He’s tapping his pencil against the table with an unsteady rhythm that has Dan gritting his teeth just a little.

“More than the average person I reckon,” he adds on even though Dan’s pretending not to listen or even care for that matter.

He does stop writing to look up at him.

“What?”

Phil holds his pencil still in between his fingers as if he’s suddenly become aware of the tapping noise he’s been making. Maybe he has.

“Thunder,” Phil says. “Did you hear it last night?”

Dan swallows thickly. Phil’s only trying to be nice, he supposed. He’s no real threat. Maybe his body is a bit long and gangly and one wrong flail of a limb could be dangerous but other than that he seems the kind of guy that probably wouldn’t even be able to hurt a fly.

Dan blinks, realising he hasn’t said anything yet, and it’s his turn to speak.

“Uh, no,” he says with a shake of his head. Some of his hair falls into his eyes and he quickly and awkwardly brushes it away. “I pretty much slept through the entire night.”

It’s not a lie, Dan thinks to himself. He’s the world's heaviest sleeper, and a thunderstorm wouldn’t dare shake him.

“Wow,” Phil chuckles. “That’s impressive,” he says with a quirk of his brows. “I was pretty much up all night, it felt like my house was gonna topple over the cliffs.”

Dan hums, then,

“You live near there? Beside the cliffs?”

He pictures the ones he’s seen before, back when he’d take walks along the beaches and look up at the little dots that were above him. 

Phil shifts in his seat, looking down at where the pencil in his hand before he looks back up at Dan.

“It’s, uh, it’s my parents house, actually.”

Dan nods. If he were an ass he might make a joke about how a grown man such as himself lives with his parents still.

And Dan  _ is _ an ass. He knows that. He’s absolutely certain of it.

But there’s something about Phil’s face that makes him bite back his words. He’s trying, after all, the least he can do it maybe not be a dick to the first guy he’s met here.

“Oh. Right. I’ve seen those houses before,” Dan says in a stiff voice. He wonders if Phil can already gage how incredibly and horrifically awkward he is with this one conversation already.

“They’re… nice.”

Phil’s looking at him when his lips curl into a smile. It makes Dan smile back for some reason.

“I know. My parents retired here so I guess I can’t be too mad at them for buying such a nice house.”

Dan looks down at his paper. They’re supposed to be writing about  _ feelings _ today. He’s got a few words jotted down on his sheet. His eyes flicker to Phil’s.

He has a doodle of a Pokemon and a squiggly mess on his.

“So, you live here then?” Phil’s asking him and Dan looks back up at him, feeling his face flush hot in fear he’s been caught out.

Phil looks at him like he either doesn’t care or didn’t notice; either way, it’s a good look, something relaxed.

“I’m not, from here,” Dan tells him with a wave of his pencil. “I just moved here, summer just gone.”

Phil’s face breaks into a smile. “Oh! I love it here in the summer,” he tells him. “Did you go to any of the beaches?”

Dan thinks back to the little coastal spots he went to just months ago. None of them were happy trips, but he forces a small smile for Phil.

“Yeah. It’s… it’s really lovely here, isn’t it.”

Phil hums, looking at Dan like he’s deep in thought.

Dan’s eyes gaze back down to his paper again. He looks back at Phil’s, then, their eyes meet.

“You any good at this stuff?” He finds himself asking.

Phil smiles again. “Eh. I did linguistics and English language at uni,” he tells him.

Dan splutters a laugh. “Wow. Does that mean you’re gonna be top of the class? Teachers pet?”

Phil seems to enjoy the banter as he lets his shoulders roll and he sits back in his chair.

“God, no. I’m well rubbish,” he says with a shake of his head. “I have too many words for just a few lines.”

Dan smiles. “That’s like poetry within itself.”

Phil’s eyes crinkle round the edges. “Yeah?” He says softly. “What about you?”

Dan taps his paper with his finger, looking down at the scrawled ideas. “Dunno,” he shrugs. “I like to think I’m good.”

He looks up after a beat of silence to see Phil still looking at him; his expression is soft and gentle.

It’s comforting.

“Do you wanna grab coffee?” Phil suddenly asks. “After this, I mean,” he adds with a slightly awkward chuckle.

Dan clears his throat. “Oh. Uh. Yeah,” he says, his voice suddenly feels too big and too loud for such a quiet room. “Sure.”

Phil grins so hard it looks like is face might break in two. Dan also notices the way his tongue slips between his teeth in a rather endearing manner.

“Cool,” Phil says before turning back in his seat and picking up his pencil.

Dan watches him for a moment before he does the same. The words come easier this time.

_ My heart is trapped between cages and bones, _

_ It beats on the ribs of its cell and begs for freedom, _

_ My heart is trapped between muscle and tissue, _

_ It beats and it begs for freedom within. _

_ My heart is trapped between anxiety and excitement, _

_ It beats and it begs for understanding of itself. _

_ It beats and it begs, for something new. _

_ * _

Coffee with Phil is strange. He orders something sugary and sweet and probably bad for his blood sugar levels.

But he doesn’t seem to mind the sickly taste nor the temperature as he guzzles it down like a pig at a trough.

“You’re so weird,” Dan says, bringing his cup to his lips. He takes a sip and it burns the roof of his mouth, so much so he knows it’s gonna leave a pain there for the next few days. He frowns.

“You’re weirder,” Phil counteracts. “You’re like some broody stereotypical stranger who sits at the back of the class and doesn’t come out of their shell until they meet the kooky outgoing kid that makes them laugh.”

Dan sets his cup down and narrows his eyes at Phil, who has a knowing kind of smirk on his face.

“Isn’t that what’s happening now? Are you kooky? Who even says that word anymore?”

Phil shrugs and takes another gulp at his drink and Dan wonders how his tongue hasn’t just melted out of his mouth at this point.

“Kooky is a kooky word. I say it. I like it.”

Dan can’t really argue with him, unsure of where the barrier of teasing and straight up bullying lies, so he just cups his drink in his hands and lets it warm him up.

“So,” Phil starts up, clearly not wanting to waste any time. “What made you come to the Isle of Man?”

Dan swallows thickly. If Phil is being bold, maybe the best he can do for talking to him when nobody else would and buying him a coffee and actually inviting him out, is be just as bold.

“I liked the name,” he shrugs. He flits his eyes down to avoid Phil’s look for a moment before he takes a breath and looks back up.

“The name?” Phil asks. It looks like the corners of his mouth are desperate to twitch up until a smile, but he’s seemingly holding back.

Dan lets out a breath. “Yeah. Like the name. Like men too, so it seemed quite fitting.”

Phil’s face falls from that half smile and he’s blinking rapidly at him.

For a horrible, horrible moment Dan wonders if maybe he’s been reading Phil wrong all this time.

Maybe kooky meant nothing and Phil’s looks and smiles were just weirdly friendly. Maybe Phil’s a horrific bigot and Dan’s just been plainly oblivious to it because maybe he likes Phil a little bit.

But before he can even take back what he’s said or done, Phil’s suddenly smiling again like he’s been put on reset and he lets out a breathy kind of laugh.

“Oh!” He exclaims, loud and abrupt enough to make him jump a little in his seat.

“Oh, that’s actually really funny,” Phil says, smile wide and eyes crinkling around the edges. He’s not actually laughing but he seems to appreciate the joke.

Dan smiles back and takes a mouthful of his drink just so he has something to do.

He’s swallowing down his liquid lava when Phil says.

“I wish I’d thought of that joke. Would have gotten some good laughs out of my mates.”

Dan almost spits out his drink before he swallows and looks at Phil. 

So maybe he wasn’t so wrong after all.

His brain and his mouth don’t seem connected in the moment; it’s been so long since he’s had a proper conversation with anyone that he’s forgotten how to interact with a human being.

And that’s why he’s opening his mouth and blurting out:

“So you’re gay then?”

Phil grins, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Are you?”

Dan shakes his head and it seems to throw Phil a little bit before he quickly adds.

“I’m queer.”

Phil hums, like he’s mulling it over in his head. 

He takes some time to figure it out before he says,

“Isn’t that.. the same thing?”

Dan looks down at his cup to avoid Phil’s gaze.

“Dunno. Yeah. No. Depends, I think.”

He looks up and Phil is giving him a patient look. It feels far from cruel or impatient like he’s so used to, and it makes it easier to relax into his chair.

“That’s cool. I like that.”

Dan finds himself smiling. A genuine smile, too.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Me too.”

*

The next week Dan sits next to Phil. 

Phil smiles at him as they take out their notebooks.

Dan looks at the board. It reads:  _ Perspective. _

He looks back at Phil who’s looking at him with a wide smile.

“What d’you think that means?” Phil asks in a low voice. The room starts to fill with people and chatter.

Dan shrugs, feeling his own smile pull at his lips.

“Dunno,” he says, opening up his book and smothering the page out with the flat of his palm. He looks back at Phil.

“Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

*

They have an assignment. They have until next week to finish their drafts and as soon as it’s announced that they have a deadline and rules to follow, Dan instantly wants to bail.

Maybe he could hop on the next boat and leave the island and never come back. Or maybe try and grow out a moustache and change his identity so he can never have to worry about being seen again.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Phil’s shoulder presses into his.

He looks around, his hair is swept over his eyes from the wind.

“So what are you gonna write about?”

His enthusiasm is easily heard over the sound of crashing waves as they walk the stretch of the beach.

There’s nobody else here besides them. Probably because it’s zero fucking degrees, but Dan doesn’t mind. He just shoves his hands further into his pocket and carries on walking with Phil by his side.

“Dunno,” he says. It’s easily one of his favourite words as of late. “Perspective on what do you think?”

He looks to Phil. He’s blinking the sun out of his eyes and his nose is scrunched up.

“I guess it’s up to you,” Phil tells him with an easy shrug.

Dan looks down at the wet sand beneath his feet. It’s getting his trainers wet and messy but he doesn’t care. The footprints beside his are a little bigger and it makes him feel good for some reason.

“What about the guideline?” He finds himself asking. His voice edges on worry. He’s not sure why when he’s trying so hard not to.

“What about it?” Phil replies back.

Dan is silent for a moment as they walk, and he’s grateful as Phil lets him.

After a while, he finally asks,

“So what about you?”

They slow down their fast pace.

“What about me?”

“What’s your perspective?”

Phil sucks in a breath. He looks at Dan, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Dunno.”

*

Dan writes about Phil. It’s not very good but he tries his best. He stays up late at night and hears the storm. He writes about blue eyes and inky hair and star freckled skin.

He tears up paper and throws it out, rewriting and starting again until he can try and get it perfect.

It takes him until the early morning when his eyes are burning and his hand is cramping that it’s near impossible to write about Phil perfectly because he’s somebody that can’t be captured in just a few short lines.

He looks at his paper and touching his fingertips to the ink, smudging it just a little bit.

He doesn’t mind though. Maybe imperfection has its own perfection.

*

He shows Phil the next week.

He feels like a little kid, holding it out and waiting for his judgment. 

He’s watching his every movement as his eyes scan over his writing. His heart leaps into his throat when Phil finally looks up.

“You wrote about me?” He asks. His eyes are a little glossy and he’s smiling at least.

“You’re the only thing I really know here,” Dan tells him truthfully. “You’re the only real perspective I have right now, on this isle.”

Phil grins, wide and true, and it seems genuine. It makes Dan feel like smiling too.

“It’s good,” Phil tells him, a croak in his voice. “It’s really good, Dan.”

Dan scoffs a laugh, feeling his face blush under the praise he knows he enjoys.

“Is that Phil from Isle of Man saying that or is it Phil the linguistics major saying it?”

Phil laughs. 

“It’s Phil that thinks Dan is pretty cool that likes it.”

He hands Dan back the paper. “The Phil that wants to thank Dan for being so kind to him, even when he was being a bit annoying.”

Dan snorts, actually snorts as he takes his work back.

“The same Phil that talks in third person like a weirdo?”

Phil’s eyes crinkle. “That’s the one.”

“Good,” Dan nods. “I like that one.”

Dan hands the paper in and agrees for another coffee on the beach later after the class.

And as they walk against the wind, letting the scenery become their muse, Dan doesn’t care about the sand in his shoe or the mark he’ll get on his poem.

Phil is good enough for now. And maybe a little while after that.

And maybe a little more after that too.

*

_He's blue, eyes bright and wild,_

_He's red, fire and excitement,  
_

_He's green, fresh and wonderful,_

_He's golden, hopeful and hearty,  
_

_He's a watercolour mess against my blank canvas.  
_

_He's blue and red and green golden,  
_

_Vibrant and new, my colourless word becomes art,_

_He's blue, and when he looks at me, and he makes me rainbow._

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr !! @watergator


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